---
The deeper we rode into the forest, the heavier the air felt. The sunlight struggled to pierce the canopy above, leaving the world beneath bathed in a muted green light. It might have been beautiful under different circumstances, but today it felt like a cage. The towering trees seemed to close in around us, their ancient trunks forming a natural labyrinth that offered no clear way out.
Even the birds had gone silent. The once lively chirps and rustling leaves had faded to an oppressive stillness that set my teeth on edge.
Sir Garret, riding at the front of the group, slowed his horse and surveyed the area. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, his body taut with vigilance. "Quiet," he muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "Too quiet."
Behind him, the young nobles remained oblivious. They laughed and joked, their voices too loud, their movements too casual. Dressed in polished leather hunting garb, they looked the part of noble heirs but carried themselves like men who had never faced anything more dangerous than a tame fox.
"I'll wager five gold I bag the first boar!" one of them shouted, his tone buoyant.
"Ten says you'll miss your first shot," another chimed in, drawing laughs from the group.
My knuckles whitened around the reins as I tried to ignore them. Their carelessness grated on my nerves, but I didn't blame them. They didn't know what was coming. They didn't know that this forest was a death trap, that this trip had never been about hunting.
But I did.
---
We stopped at a small clearing to rest, the kind of place that might have felt tranquil if not for the suffocating weight of dread that clung to me. The knights dismounted first, scanning the treeline with trained precision. Sir Garret's face was carved from stone, his eyes constantly moving. Sir Roland, by contrast, appeared utterly at ease as he slid from his horse and stretched.
"Let's not tarry too long," Garret warned, his voice carrying over the clearing. "This part of the woods is less traveled, and we don't want to risk losing daylight."
The nobles, of course, ignored him. One by one, they dismounted and began to spread out, laughing and boasting as they pulled out their bows or examined the tracks in the dirt. To them, this was an adventure—a chance to prove their worth. I envied their ignorance.
"Master Liam," Sir Roland said, approaching me with an easy smile. "You've been unusually quiet. Lost in thought?"
"Just pacing myself," I replied, keeping my tone light. "No point in wasting energy before the real action starts."
He chuckled, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Wise words. I didn't know you were such a strategist."
My stomach churned at his subtle jab. He was testing me, probing for weakness, for anything out of character. If I wasn't careful, he'd see through the mask I was wearing, and that was a luxury I couldn't afford.
---
The first projectile came from the treetops, striking one of the nobles in the shoulder. He screamed, staggering backward before collapsing to the ground. Blood seeped through his hunting cloak, the bright red stark against the muted greens of the forest.
For a moment, no one moved. Then the chaos erupted.
"Ambush!" Sir Garret roared, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. "Form up! Protect the young master!"
The knights reacted instantly, pulling their shields and weapons free as more projectiles rained down. Shadows emerged from the treeline, figures clad in dark, mismatched armor and wielding an array of crude weapons. They moved with purpose, cutting off escape routes and closing in on the clearing like a noose.
I dismounted, my heart pounding as I ducked behind a fallen log. The sounds of battle filled the air—the clash of steel, the shouts of men, the guttural cries of the wounded. My hands shook as I gripped the hilt of my dagger, its ornate design feeling more like a decoration than a weapon.
"Focus on the heir!" one of the attackers shouted, their voice sharp and commanding. "Take him alive!"
The words sent a chill down my spine. They weren't here to kill me outright. No, their orders were clear—capture, not kill. And that meant one thing: someone had orchestrated this. Someone wanted me alive for a reason.
---
From my hiding spot, I scanned the battlefield. The knights were holding their ground for now, but they were outnumbered, and the attackers were relentless. Sir Garret fought like a demon, his blade flashing as he cut down one foe after another, but even he couldn't hold them all off forever.
I had to act. My survival depended on it.
My eyes landed on a cluster of supplies near the edge of the clearing—a barrel of oil, some unlit torches, and several coils of rope. An idea began to form, reckless and dangerous but better than sitting idle.
Keeping low, I crawled toward the supplies, my movements slow and deliberate. The noise of battle masked my approach, but every step felt like a gamble. One wrong move, one stray glance, and it would be over.
Reaching the barrel, I pried the lid off and tipped it over, spilling its contents across the ground. The acrid smell of oil filled my nostrils, and I grabbed one of the torches, fumbling for the flint and steel in my belt.
"Hurry," I muttered under my breath, striking the flint until a spark caught. The flame licked the edge of the oil, and within moments, a line of fire roared to life, spreading rapidly toward the attackers.
The sudden burst of flames threw the attackers into disarray. Some shouted in panic, while others scrambled to extinguish the fire. The knights, sensing an opportunity, pressed forward with renewed vigor, their swords cutting through the enemy line.
---
The clearing was a battlefield by the time the fight ended. Bodies littered the ground, and the acrid stench of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air. The fire had burned out, leaving charred patches of earth and ash in its wake.
I sat slumped against a tree, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. My hands were stained with soot and oil, trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.
Sir Garret approached, his armor battered and bloodied but his eyes sharp. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough but steady.
I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. "No. Just... tired."
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield. "You did well. That fire saved us."
The words should have been reassuring, but they felt hollow. We had survived, yes, but at what cost? Half the knights were gone, and the nobles who had once laughed so freely now lay silent and still. And worst of all, I knew this wasn't the end. Whoever had orchestrated this attack would try again.
Sir Roland emerged from the treeline, his armor pristine and his expression calm. "A tragic loss," he said, his tone almost mocking. "But at least the young master is safe."
I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He had been conspicuously absent during the fight, and his hands were too clean. I couldn't prove it yet, but my suspicions were all but confirmed.
This wasn't over.
---